


A Visitor

by andrasste



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Giveaway fic, undead-gearhead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-03
Updated: 2016-11-03
Packaged: 2018-08-28 19:44:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8460583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andrasste/pseuds/andrasste
Summary: Cerridwyn answers Cullen's door.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A giveaway fic for undead-gearhead @ tumblr featuring her Lavellan. :)

Cerridwyn wakes slowly, as if rising from a pool of still water. Her limbs are pleasantly heavy, and she is currently being smothered by both heat and weight, courtesy of Cullen wrapped tightly around her. She smiles before she even opens her eyes, shifting a little; in sleep, he generates a ridiculous amount of heat. A sheen of sweat has formed between them.

Despite the discomfort, she doesn't move, doesn't even shift to touch his arm where it's draped over her. This is the first night he's slept through since she began spending the nights. She doesn't want to wake him; he deserves his rest.

She uses her free arm to reach her phone on the nightstand. A cursory glance at the screen tells her that it's early yet, and that they have time to lie here, if only for a little while.

Cullen's breath is hot on her back, face buried between her shoulder blades. She is fairly sure they didn't start out that way and the thought makes her smile. Everything from his soft, snuffling sleeping noises to the occasional incoherent mumble increases her good mood until she's practically floating with it, adrift on a tiny island made of soft mattress and the man she loves.

It's a long time before she moves, before she has to. The pressure of her bladder forces her to wiggle out of his arms, attempting as best she can not to wake him. She manages after several long moments and quickly scoops some clothing off the floor, dashing to the door and pulling it closed noiselessly behind her. With her business finished, she puts the kettle on and works on letting the light of day into the house.

It turns out that she'd only managed to scoop up one of Cullen's shirts in her haste to leave the room, but she throws it on anyway, enjoying the smell of him lingering on the fabric, the way it completely swallows her smaller form.

She's just steeping her tea when there's a frantic knock at the door. She looks down the hall to make sure that Cullen is still asleep before answering it a little reluctantly. " _Finally_. You might try answering your phone once in a while, you--" The woman on the stoop turns, clearly expecting to see someone much taller than Cerridwyn. Her gaze travels down until it lands on her, stammering a little. "--you. Who are you?" 

Cerridwyn blinks, instinctively crossing her arms over her chest. It raises her ire that this woman is apparently so familiar with Cullen, yet he's never spoken of anyone remotely like her. "I-- who am  _I_? Who are you?" She shifts, opens the door a little wider and narrows her eyes.

The woman looks dumbfounded. "How long have you lived here? I--thought he would have told me if he'd moved." She still looks angry, but there is a shadow of hurt in her face, in the drop of her shoulders.

Cerridwyn reacts with a tiny amount of sympathy, though she's hurt as well. Hurt she doesn't know who this woman is, if she clearly thinks so highly of Cullen. "I don't live here," she says, dropping her hands to her sides again. 'You're looking for Cullen, I take it?'

The woman nods and meets her gaze. The color of her eyes is at once unique and startlingly familiar. "Yes, I. He isn't here, is he?" She looks Cerridwyn over, taking in the large shirt and lack of other clothing, and raises an eyebrow. 

"No, he is, I just. Who are you?" She asks again, gentler. "I've never heard-- I'll go wake him." 

"No!" she says, reacting lightning quick to grab Cerridwyn's wrist. "Don't! I'll just wait if that's okay. I'm his sister." 

Cerridwyn steps aside mechanically, holding the door open. Sister? Cullen once mentioned he had a large family, but that was the extent of the information he'd given about them. There's no doubt that they're related, though; his sister's hair is a few shades darker, it's wildly curly, and her eyes are that eerily similar shade of amber. She'd never thought about his silence in regards to his family, just assumed that thy weren't close or that they lived far away.

But the appearance of his sister proved all of that false. Let him sleep, yes, but Cerridwyn has some questions when he wakes. 

The woman shrugs off her scarf and holds it in one hand, looking around curiously. She'd been here before; her body language was relaxed, and her eyes weren't taking in the shape of the room, only the decorations. Or lack of, in this case. Cerridwyn hadn't been lying when she said she didn't live here. It was Cullen's space alone, and he had quietly resisted all attempts to put up curtains, or paintings, or lay down a rug. His furniture is functional, and he claims that's all he needs.

Cerridwyn itches to get her fingers on the bookcases lining one wall of the living room. The books within aren't sorted by any method she understands, a construct of his mind that escapes her. It would look less like a pile of covers if she could at least get it organized by author or something. 

But that's one of the things she loves about Cullen, when it comes down to it. In some things, most things, he is methodical and organized, but there are small things like this that he's perfectly fine to let slip through the cracks. 

She turns her attention back to his sister for a moment, shifting her weight awkwardly from foot to foot. "I'm, um. Cerridwyn, Cullen's girlfriend," she says, a little sheepish under the sharp gaze of the other woman.

"I gathered," she says, smirking a little. "Mia, and by the surprise on your face I suppose he's neglected to mention anything about me." Cerridwyn makes a small apologetic sound, moving into the kitchen to grab another mug for tea. 

"It's alright," Mia continues with a sigh. "He has a habit of doing that. When he was enlisted, we thought for sure he'd died in combat. Imagine our surprise when we finally got a letter." Her tone is somewhat dry, and she moves around the kitchen like it's her own, pulling a tea bag from the carefully planned drawer and pouring her own water from the kettle. 

Cerridwyn manages a weak smile as she moves out of Mia's way, suddenly self-conscious at the blatant display she's putting on with only his shirt to cover her. "I'll, uh. I'll go get dressed, shall I?" She mutters, setting her mug on the small dining table and moving off down the hall before Mia can protest. She rolls her shoulders, completely flummoxed by this unexpected meeting and the information it brings with it. 

When the door to the bedroom creaks open, she finds Cullen stirring in his sleep, on the verge of waking. She collects her clothes and dresses slowly, waiting for him to open his eyes. 

When he does, he gives her a slow, lazy smile, reaches for her and manages to catch her as she's retrieving a sock from beside the bed. He pulls her down and immediately wraps himself around her like a many-legged creature. "Morning," he says, voice rough from sleep. "Why are you dressed?" 

Cerridwyn can't help but smile, though she still needs to confront him, and no amount of suave morning snuggles are going to overcome that. "Because your sister is in the kitchen." 

He tenses; she can feel his arms around her go stiff and his breath catches. "My... which one?" 

She turns to look at him, incredulous. "Which one? You have  _more_ than one?" He looks abashed. 

"Well, Rosie wouldn't come to visit, I don't think. So it's Mia. Which would explain your alarm." 

Cerridwyn raises an eyebrow at him. 

"Mia can be a bit much," he says, apologetic, and sighs, moving back to let her up so he can find his own clothes. He morosely climbs out of bed and dresses without another word.

She leans on the door frame, watches him for a moment. "She seemed very upset that you hadn't answered your phone. Does this happen often?" 

Cullen curses and checks his phone, sighing again at whatever the screen tells him. "Too often, unfortunately," he grumbles, shoves the phone in his pocket and shuffles for a moment, waiting for her to go first. Cerridwyn is very interested to see how this goes. Mia does seem a little aggressive, a bit 'much', but that doesn't meant that she isn't interested. She'd wished a dozen times to meet Cullen's family, thinking them estranged or displaced. To have his sister (and probably his other siblings) so close is an exciting opportunity. 

For now, she reserves judgement on his lack of voluntary information and follows him back into the living room, where Mia is sitting comfortably with a cup of tea, lounging on his sofa. 

"Oh, hello brother," she says calmly, sipping from the mug. "It's nice to see that you haven't died. I think I might actually get some sort of correspondence should that happen. Imagine that." She's scowling but it's barely there, a shadow of an expression that is still clearly readable. A skill, Cerridwyn thinks, that must be genetic.

Cullen's hair is still mussed from sleep, and he has yet to tame his mess of curls. Despite the tension, Cerridwyn can't help smiling at seeing him so unprepared, out of his element. He rubs at his neck, a familiar nervous gesture. "Mia, I wasn't expecting..." he gives her a small, sheepish smile. "I slept right through the phone ringing." 

Mia gives him a dry look. “Well, at least you’re sleeping. I guess that’s an improvement.”

For a moment there is silence, and each of them look anywhere but at each other. Cerridwyn doesn’t know how she can help diffuse the situation, beyond letting it play out on its own.

And then Mia sets her mug neatly on a coaster and stands, sizing her brother up. “You really do look better,” she says, looking up at him, eyes narrowing. She glances over to Cerridwyn. “He’s eating all right?”

Cerridwyn opens her mouth to respond, a little confused at the question, but Cullen cuts her off. “I’m not a dog, Mia. I can take care of myself.”

Mia snorts before he’s even finished with the statement. “Debatable. I’ve seen how you take care of yourself, and it’s not a reassuring sight. In any case, I was calling to invite you to breakfast somewhere. So now I guess I’m inviting you both,” she glances between them for a moment, expectant, but continues before they have a chance to answer. “I’d love to be formally introduced to this woman you’ve been keeping a secret.”

“We’d love to,” Cerridwyn says, can tell by the set of Cullen’s shoulders that he’d rather not invite trouble by accepting the invitation. But now Cerridwyn is curious, and she wants to know more about his family situation, perhaps hear some embarrassing childhood stories.

And she'd like to know why Mia thinks that he's been keeping her a secret.

 


End file.
